Blood Hunt
by SillastraDragontongue
Summary: New Chapter! The conclusion to the trilogy begun with "Wolf Hunt" and "Horse Hunt." One year later, Shi joins the boys to fight the vampires and werewolves who've captured Chandre. Please review!
1. Chapter 1

He smelled the blood before he even reached the front door of the crumbling tenement building. It was a familiar smell, along with the broken glass, alcohol, piss and other bodily fluids. To his hypersensitive nose, it was a little overwhelming, but not so much that he couldn't smell any of the underlying scents.

He picked up the vampire smell right away, lingering under the blood. Fresh blood. Saliva started building up in his mouth, a natural reaction that he had to fight every single day.

Panic started building in his chest, and he took the stairs, avoiding the death trap of an elevator. He was hardly winded by the time he reached the seventh floor, and his footsteps were silent as he stalked down the hall towards his room.

As he crept, he took out his gun from his holster, trying hard not to shake with panic as the vampire scent grew stronger, mixing with fur and the smell of other werewolves. Pausing at the door, he felt a wave of anger at the smell of piss. It was a couple hours old, but someone had left their mark on his door.

Unsure of what he'd find inside, he closed his eyes, praying. _Please. Not her. Not her._ His fingers shook as he opened the door with a rush, stepping back in case something lurked inside.

There was nothing alive in there, that he knew. Nothing undead, either.

The Spartan living room was a mess. Someone had ripped the stuffing out of the battered, fourth-hand couch and sent it flying. Claw marks ran down the walls of the room and there were blood splatters everywhere.

Forgetting all his caution, he sprinted towards the bedroom, dreading what he'd find.

The bed was a mass of blood and rumpled sheets, and he tossed them aside, shoved the mattress over and rummaged through the closet. His breath rasped in his throat and he felt tears stream down his face as he read the blood painted words on the wall.

"No," he moaned, and it turned into a howl of agony.

Shi sank to his knees, letting the howl wail on until it was no longer human.

He felt the Change ripple through his body, harsh and painful, and he broke through his clothing. Uncaring, he howled again and again, knowing that the most anyone would do was put their hands over their ears and ignore it. In this neighborhood, no one would call the cops.

When the howls were all drained out, he curled up in a ball on the floor and shook with rage.

They had somehow known that he was after them, he thought, quivering. Someone had told. Someone had talked. And the vampires had taken the only thing he cared about in the entire universe.

Chandre.


	2. Chapter 2

"Dean."

No response.

"Dean."

His brother stayed silent, staring pensively ahead. Sam was beginning to wonder if he was even watching the road, but they had made the last five hours of turns safely, so perhaps he was.

"Dean, you have to talk about this."

He'd been like this ever since the call came. A year. Over a fucking year since she'd ran out into the rain. Sam had expected Dean to say something, but since she'd left, he hadn't spoken a word. When her name came up, the conversation ended. Just like that.

Sam had little trouble remembering Scarlet. She was more like Dean than anyone he'd ever seen, but he'd thought that there was nothing between them. The shapeshifter incident had said otherwise, but Scarlet had never made a pass on Dean, and vice versa. Of course, she'd had Striker, her partner, but he'd never seen Dean fail to pursue a girl. _Any_ girl.

And yet, there was something about her that even made Sam get a little flustered, so he knew that Dean _had_ to have been affected.

Which made the call and Dean's rallying response all the more perplexing. As soon as that thirty-second phone call had ended, Dean had told Sam to pack and ten minutes later they were in the Impala driving to Chicago. _In the middle of the hunt_. Dean _never_ dropped out of a hunt, no matter what.

Sam was unable to determine who exactly had been on the other line of the phone, and no names had been mentioned, but from the reaction and Dean's silence, he had concluded that it was Scarlet. Something was wrong with Scarlet. It was the only topic that was taboo. Of course, he could be wrong, but what would Dean hide from him?

That was a topic he didn't want to delve into.

"Dean . . ."

His brother practically grated his teeth before popping a cassette tape into the player and turning the volume up full force. Led Zeppelin roared into life, crooning "Going to California."

Sam shook his head. This was _really_ bad. This cassette only got turned on when Dean was pissed or irritated or something.

"Dude. Come on."

This silence was beginning to drive him nuts. He reached over and turned down the volume. Dean turned it back up. Feeling a growl coming on, Sam punched the tape out and tossed it into the back seat.

Dean turned and glared before setting his gaze on the road, staring at it with a steely-eyed stoicism.

"You left in _the middle of a hunt_, Dean. What is going on? It's Scarlet, isn't it?" At her name, Dean flinched. "So why Chicago? Is she okay?"

"Striker called."

It was Sam's turn to flinch, both from Dean breaking his vow of silence and the mention of Scarlet's partner. The werewolf. Not exactly the nicest of people—creatures.

Sam stayed quite, letting Dean take his time. No sense rushing—they had another five hours until they reached Chicago.

"He said that Scarlet was in trouble."

"And couldn't the super-assassin get her out of this trouble?" So the sarcasm was dripping—literally. It wasn't like Scarlet to stay out of trouble. Trouble seemed to be attracted to her, although in the brief time Sam had known her, she'd always tended to find her way out of that trouble. Up until the last bit with those blood-sacrificed shapeshifters, but then, they'd all needed Striker to bail them out. Talk about a deux ex machina.

"It's vampires, Sammy."

"So?" Vampires were bad, but they weren't the worst—

"It's the Master Vampire of Chicago. The head honcho." Dean sighed. "All of those other vampires we've ever come across were small fry compared to him."

"And?"

"And Striker needs back-up."

"What happened to Scarlet?"

"This vampire has her."

Sam swore. So much for eavesdropping onto that phone conversation. He must have missed something, either that or Striker had done some fast-talking.

"And he needs our help, why? He _does_ have some other person to turn to, right? What about his mysterious boss?"

"He said he needed our help, and that Scarlet was in trouble. That's enough for me." Sometimes Dean's logic was infuriating.

"What if it's a trap?"

"It's not."

Sam knew from the finality of his tone that that was the end of the conversation, and no more coercion was going to draw him out. He settled back into his seat and stared out the window at the rolling hills of South Dakota. They'd passed the badlands long since, but it had been too dark to see anything, and that would have been out of their way anyways.


End file.
